The Ice Man and the Psychopath
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: After giving Moriarty information about his brother and recieving very little in return, Mycroft was beginning to grow impatient with the consulting criminal. However Moriarty was simply playing a game, and Mycroft was unknowingly playing along...
1. Chapter 1

A/N Just an idea I had after seeing the end of 'Hounds of the Baskerville'. Sorry if they are too ooc. Hope you enjoy :)

_Disclaimer: I own nothing :(_

* * *

><p>It was difficult to believe, even after everything that Mycroft had experienced, that this small, soft-spoken man could possibly be the world's most dangerous criminal mastermind. However there was obviously a distinct undercurrent of insanity within him, the insanity illustrated by the many carvings of the name 'Sherlock' across the concrete walls of the cell. A slight chill ran down the elder Holmes' spine as he took in his brother's name surrounding him on all sides. For the most part he was a master over his emotions but it seemed that the ice cracked slightly whenever Sherlock was involved. It seemed that the protective streak that had been born when a young Mycroft had held his baby brother in his arms for the first time had never really gone away. Which made his daily meetings with Moriarty in this cold cell all the more unnerving.<p>

Moriarty had acknowledged his presence, his head had raised slightly and he was now turning his neck to face him in an almost reptilian way. A smile forced its way onto the consulting criminal's face and Mycroft thought for a fleeting moment that he would happily do anything to wipe the smirk away were he not so desperate for information. It was strange that despite being the prisoner, Moriarty seemed to be the higher power in the room. Mind you, he was the owner of a code that could bring the world crashing to its knees.

"Do you like my new artwork, Mr Holmes?" Moriarty asked in a sing-song voice. "It took me all night."

Sure enough it seemed that Moriarty had grown bored of vandalising the walls and had moved onto the opposite mirror instead. Mycroft could see from the small droplets of blood staining the glass and floor and gathered underneath the man's fingernails that the action would have pained him, yet Moriarty still took pride in his 'artwork'.

Mycroft sauntered over to the man so that he was standing before him, taking in his prisoner with some interest. The man had clearly been physically affected by his time here. The prison robes that had fitted him comfortably when he'd been taken in now hung off his skeletal frame; beads of cold sweat ran down his ghostly pale face. And yet he still wore that same maniacal grin, the bright glint in his eyes still burned wildly and Mycroft was fully aware that he was still dealing with a dangerous lunatic.

"I suppose you want more information about the key-code," he said quietly, a mocking undertone in his soft voice. He brought his gaze up to meet Mycroft's and the elder Holmes was once again reminded of some sort of reptilian creature.

"You suppose correctly," Mycroft replied, making sure to keep control over his cool exterior and keep his voice hard and emotionless. He was not here for friendly conversation.

Moriarty shook his head which now sported an almost comical frown and drew his attention to the floor, where he seemed to find entertainment in making his hand dance across the surface, his fingertips disturbing the thin layer of dust. "You know what I want in return Mycroft."

Mycroft breathed an irritable sigh. It was the same every day. Moriarty would promise information, and occasionally he'd give it, but first he'd ask for information about his nemesis' past. Mycroft had willingly obliged at first, trying to keep his information fairly harmless for Sherlock's sake. However as more time had passed Moriarty had grown dissatisfied with the small portions of information, and was hungrily trying to get more information out of Mycroft, only giving him something in return if he was satisfied.

"I've told you more than enough, Moriarty, now give me information." He received no response, instead Moriarty continued watching the floor while his fingers continued to dance across the concrete floor as if they were playing the keys on a piano. He was muttering under his breath and Mycroft wondered if he was even paying attention any more. "Unless, of course, you wish to be tortured again? I know a few people who'd happily try to break you."

A smile broke across the psychopath's face again. So he had been listening.

"Your men don't intimidate me, Mycroft." His dark gaze forced its way up to meet Mycroft's once more, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And neither do you." Had Mycroft been a normal person with an average mind then the delivery of this comment may have unnerved him. The softness had an added layer of unmistakeable venom and Mycroft could clearly see the madness in the other man's eyes for a split second. However the madness faded almost instantly after it had appeared and the threatening tone melted into a conversational one as Moriarty spoke again. "So tell me more about our dear Sherlock. Why _do_ you two despise each other so much?"

"As I recall I've already told you that Moriarty," Mycroft replied, a slight hint of impatience slipping into his tone.

"Tell me again then," the prisoner sang. "I love that story. It's almost as good as the one where you beat up his bullies when he was five. You were such a sweet older brother once, weren't you?"

Mycroft groaned in slight exasperation. Obviously Moriarty wasn't going to open up today, and he had already forced more information out of Mycroft about his younger brother than he was comfortable with in the past. "Obviously I'm wasting my time. If you aren't going to tell me anything useful..."

"Patience, Mycroft, patience!" Moriarty cried out, waving his hands in some grand gesture. Yet another sly grin worked its way onto his face. It seemed that he had an amazing ability to change his facial expressions from menacing to gleeful within a matter of seconds. "Besides you'll discover everything soon enough. Your brother and I have yet to face one more problem. The final problem..." The last words were murmured as if they were simply an afterthought.

Mycroft had had enough. Some days he could get a lot out of Moriarty, others he could barely get a sane word out of him or was only given pointless riddles. Obviously today was in the latter category. Without another word Mycroft walked past the other man, signalling to the waiting guard to let him out.

Before he had even taken one step outside the cell the mocking voice sounded from behind him once more, the hidden laughter so defined that Mycroft could almost see the grin on his prisoners face. "I don't need to tell you the code, Mr Holmes. I've already shown you."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and threw a questioning glance at the guard, who shrugged in response. He hadn't noticed his prisoner do anything abnormal, it seemed. Well, apart from scratching a name all across his prison wall. Mycroft thought back on their past conversations in order to find anything that could back Moriarty's statement up but nothing immediate came to mind. The sing-song tone sounded unhelpfully from behind him once more, a hidden challenge in the words. "Were you paying attention?"

These bold words had barely enough time to sink in before the cell door slammed shut behind him, creating a barrier that separated the Ice Man from the psychopath.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I originally intended for this to be a one-shot but people have said I should update it, so here's the next chapter :) Hope you enjoy.

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock or its characters. However I would be very happy if I did :)_

* * *

><p>A week passed with little incident. Moriarty spent all of his time sitting in the centre of his cell, completely motionless while Mycroft observed him from the grainy security footage spread across three television screens in his office. The consulting criminal's dark gaze barely wandered from the scarred mirror before him. It was hardly unusual for Moriarty to be so withdrawn; during his torture all he'd ever done was stare blankly into space, trapped within his brilliant mind. However since Mycroft had taken part in the interrogation the consulting criminal had seemed much more open, more alive. Now it felt like they'd taken a major step back, although nobody could tell what had brought on such a change. It was either that or Moriarty was biding his time, waiting patiently for something.<p>

This eventually seemed to be the case when Mycroft received an urgent call from one of his men in the middle of the night.

"He's asking for you. Moriarty. He keeps saying your name, wants you to talk to him," the messenger reported. He sounded unnerved, although Mycroft could hardly blame him. The poor man had the unfortunate job of observing Moriarty for twelve hours a day through the window overlooking the lunatic's cell.

The request was something new, Moriarty had never personally asked for anything before now. All he did was sit and take everything that was thrown at him, occasionally smiling in amusement when other grown men would have screamed in pain and terror.

"When does he want to see me?" Mycroft asked after taking a moment to analyse his prisoner's request. "Is it urgent or can it wait until morning?"

"I think it's urgent sir," came the response. " He's about five minutes away from scratching _your_ name into the wall."

Mycroft groaned. Great. Moriarty had once again crossed the line from brilliance to insanity. Dealing with the consulting criminal in times like these was almost as bad as trying to reason with Sherlock when he was bored. In fact it had occurred to Mycroft several times that when it came to intelligence and eccentricity, the two men were scarily alike. They'd have made a good married couple were they not so desperate to kill each other.

Mycroft quickly assured the guard that he'd be arriving at the prison as soon as possible before hanging up. He knew that this was likely just another case of Moriarty dragging him and the other government officials down a false path yet again but he may as well speak to the man. It was the first time he'd done anything note-worthy in a while.

Within five minutes he's notified Anthea that he was needed at the prison and had a sleek black car parked outside his mansion, waiting to whisk him away to the unknown that was Moriarty's mind games.

* * *

><p>"Ah Mycroft!" The criminal mastermind greeted his interrogator enthusiastically as he entered the cell a mere thirty four minutes after receiving the call. "So nice to see you again." The man was definitely more alert than he had been in the past week. He was standing against the mirror as if he'd been awaiting his guest and despite the fact that his clothes threatened to drown his skinny frame and Mycroft was almost completely looking down on him, the danger was still unmistakeably present. It lurked mysteriously in the atmosphere of the room and it was obvious that what Moriarty lacked in physical size, he more than made up for in presence.<p>

"I heard you requested me personally," Mycroft said calmly, closing the gap between himself and the madman. "Finally going to tell me something useful or did you just miss me?"

Moriarty grinned, the glint in his eye seemed to burn through the cold air. Mycroft couldn't help but feel pity for the guards who had to observe him every waking hour. "Don't flatter yourself Mycroft, you aren't interesting enough." He backed away from the elder Holmes and began pacing around the cell, tracing the indents of the wall where he'd scratched 'Sherlock' with the tips of his fingers.

"Ah yes, I forgot. You prefer sociopathic detectives," Mycroft said with a slight smirk. Moriarty continued to walk around the room, a slight smile forcing its way across his face at the elder Holmes' comment. It was obvious though that he hadn't called Mycroft personally just so they could dig into each other. "Did you ever figure out what I meant? My little message when we last met?"

Mycroft couldn't help the slight smile that graced his lips at the memory. "Of course I did. I figured it out within a minute. Hardly your toughest challenge, was it?"

Moriarty was eyeing his opponent with some interest, continuing to encircle him. Mycroft was reminded slightly of an animal trapped within the field of his hunter. "Go on," he said, almost encouragingly.

"That little dance you kept doing with your hand. At first I thought that was simply a result of your boredom, but you were sending me a message." The grin on the prisoner's face widened, Mycroft was onto something. "Each time you touched the floor was a beat. The pattern would suggest either Morse code or binary. And seeing as this is a computer code we're dealing with I assumed they represented the digits of a binary code. Hardly difficult."

Moriarty stopped pacing for a moment and clapped his hands together. It was strange for a criminal to be so overjoyed when an interrogator broke down their plan. Mind you, Moriarty was hardly a common criminal. "Good! Very good! I'm impressed Mr Holmes." His amusement seemed to increase with his next question, his voice became high pitched and the mocking sing-song tone returned. "So what did you find?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The code you gave me was a fake." Mycroft could hardly contain the danger in his tone as he answered. Moriarty had known that all along, it was why he was enjoying this so much. Although, it seemed idiotic now to have possibly believed that Moriarty would have given up the code so easily.

Moriarty had drawn to a complete halt now, staring Mycroft in the face with the destroyed mirror as his backdrop once again. His playful mood had dissipated somewhat but he hadn't quite slipped into menacing yet, something which Mycroft was grateful for to say the least. "Well of course it was a fake," his reply sounded almost pitiful, underlying disappointment was present in his voice and face. "You aren't getting the code that easily now, are you? _That_ was Rossini's 'The Thieving Magpie'. I love classical music. All those flourishes, all that excitement..."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I don't care for music."

Moriarty seemed to blink out of a trance, as if he'd rambled on without realising it. He smiled once more, sheepishly this time. He seemed to be a man of many facial expressions. "No, I didn't you would. Thank you anyway for proving that little trick works. It will be very useful to me one day."

Mycroft's impatience was growing, although he managed not to let any of it show. "Stop changing the subject Moriarty. You requested me personally and it wasn't to discuss classical music. What do you want?"

Moriarty's smile faded. Mycroft could almost feel the temperature drop as it left his face. Were it not for the fact that he rarely felt emotion and had grown used to Moriarty's severe mood changes then he may have felt a flicker of fear cross over him. Nevertheless he didn't like being in this position – being the man with the most authority in the room and yet feeling slightly overpowered by the lunatic that was supposed to be his prisoner. Moriarty had had this effect on everyone who'd come into contact with him in the three months that he'd been confined, that undercurrent of danger had slipped into the atmosphere and shaken up the guards more than once. His powerful presence seemed to be one of his greatest assets. His voice dropped to a whisper, and the menace was finally back. "I've waited a very long time for this Mycroft. Thank you for playing along."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and threw his prisoner a questioning look, one that was returned with a cold sneer. The consulting criminal went on. "All that information, proving my little game with the binary code works on a superior mind, going along with my little deal. You've been ever so useful Mycroft Holmes. As you'll see soon enough..."

He began striding over towards the taller man, never taking his dark eyes off of him. For a moment they both stood there, still and silent like a portrait. The sophisticated government official in the suit and the maniacal psychopath in the prison robes, locked in each others gaze, each one trying to get into the others mind. Hours seemed to have passed when Moriarty finally spoke again, his voice soft but unable to hide the threat, that terrifying venom that had broken the minds of many men and convinced many thugs and criminals to accept him as their leader. "I doubt Sherlock will thank you."

There it was again, that chilling feeling of unease that was amplified when his younger brothers name was spoken in such a tone by this madman. It didn't matter that the brothers were in the middle of yet another feud, Sherlock was still his flesh and blood. He was the baby that Mycroft had sworn to look after as he'd held him in his arms for the first time, he was the boy whose demons Mycroft had helped to chase away – whether they were childish bullies or nightmares. He was the man whose life story Mycroft had fed to this maniac for weeks while feeling a painful sensation of guilt eat away at him as he did so. To have Moriarty talk about him in a threatening tone was hardly comforting, and the only thing that gave Mycroft slight relief was the knowledge that he still had the upper hand.

"You seem certain that we'll let you go," Mycroft said calmly to his opponents face. Moriarty's lack of emotion encouraged Mycroft slightly. He imagined that had any of his conflicting emotions crossed his face for even a second then the consulting criminal would have had a smug response. "After everything we've discovered about you, do you really expect us to set you free?"

Moriarty's smile returned almost instantly, his face brightened as he began striding around the cell once more. "Of course I do."

Mycroft gave out a disbelieving laugh. "We aren't that incompetent Moriarty! How can you expect us to let you walk out the door while we willingly look on?"

"Psychology, my dear Mycroft," Moriarty practically yelled, pointing at his head as if Mycroft needed more guidance in order to understand what he meant. He walked over to the mirror, the mirror which concealed several observing guards and government officials in the next room. Guards who were now faced with a very gleeful lunatic. "I told you I'd been waiting didn't I? I've been counting the days. It's the 15th of March, am I wrong?"

He twisted his head round to face Mycroft once more in his usual reptilian manner which made Mycroft question whether he was dealing with a man or a lizard. He remained standing before the mirror though, simply gazing at Mycroft over his shoulder. Mycroft noted that he was right about the date, an impressive feat when time seemed to have no place here. "You see, everyone has a weak spot Mr Holmes. People they wish to protect. You'd be surprised how far some desperate souls will go when you target their loved ones."

Mycroft swallowed. He had a fair idea of where this was going, but he couldn't tell why Moriarty was making such a dramatic speech at this specific time.

"In the short time I've known you I've realised that you have two groups of people you consider it a duty to protect, whether or not you particularly care about them at all. Hardly difficult to find out, in fact you've only confirmed what I already suspected..."

Mycroft felt his impatience growing. If the lunatic didn't start making a point he was starting to suspect that he'd have to punch it out of him. Mind you, that had never worked in the past. "What are you getting at, Moriarty?" he asked, his voice raised but otherwise steady.

Moriarty turned his attention to the mirror again and Mycroft could see in the reflection that the consulting criminal was evidently enjoying his hidden knowledge too much. "I'm going to let you make a choice Mycroft, seeing as I'm feeling nice." With his next words it became clear that he was not only addressing Mycroft, but the onlooking guards as well. "What I'm getting at is that you and your loyal men will release me and allow me to go after your dear brother without any interference by tomorrow or..."

Mycroft didn't like this. Moriarty had something up his sleeve, something that was seemingly inescapable. "Or what?"

"Or at midday tomorrow, somewhere random in the UK, several thousand of your precious civilians will be the unfortunate victims of a terrorist attack."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **Thanks again to everbody who's reviewed this story so far :) Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy :D

* * *

><p>Mycroft could probably count the instances where he'd felt extremely pressurised on the fingers of one hand. Not just the usual challenges that were presented to him daily in this job but the times where he could feel the pressure building up within him, suffocating him as it clutched him tightly in its iron grip. The times when his mind had been washed over with the consequences of events that had happened or had yet to happen due to a simple, but often fatal mistake.<p>

James Moriarty now held the proud achievement of being the cause of two such instances. The first time had been bad enough as years of planning and preparation for 'Bond Air' had unfurled before his eyes at the arrival of a single text message from the criminal mastermind. At least then the true depth of the problem had occurred to him while he was alone in his mansion, where he was free to lose his composure without the threat of others seeing.

However while he stood in the centre of that cold, claustrophobic cell in the presence of Moriarty after the man had, quite literally, dropped a bombshell, he had no choice but to keep his composure at all costs, even when the prisoner's revelation was threatening to swallow him whole. It wasn't just Moriarty who was watching him, studying his every reaction. There were the guards and government officials in the next room, there were the cameras and bugs that would pick up his every action and word. He had no choice but to hold himself together and continue to try to leech as much information out of Moriarty as possible, despite the fact that this would be a practically impossible feat.

"Do you have anything to back up that threat?" Mycroft said after a while, his internal conflict mercifully invisible to everyone else and his words laced with a challenge.

Moriarty laughed maniacally and spun round to face the elder Holmes, looking much more alive than he'd seemed in weeks. "I have many loyal followers Mycroft, like you," he replied mockingly, his wide grin seeming to take up half of his face, distorting his pale features. "A bombing is easy, all you need are a few willing participants desperate to impress Daddy with a grand display. And a large building filled with people in this case." Mycroft could see a plan coming together in the psychopath's eyes, the climax of a battle finally approaching. "Unless, of course, I'm free to call them off by midday from a specific phone. If I'm not able to do that then..." He flailed out his arms wildly, mimicking the sound of a blast as if Mycroft hadn't got the message already.

Mycroft remained still, wearing his usual cold mask as a disguise. He had to appear to have the upper hand even with his authority fading away as each second passed. "You do realise we can track down the place in question and evacuate everyone in time?" The threat was empty of course, they had nothing at all to go on, but if there was anything that could force a clue out of Moriarty then he'd clutch at straws for the chance.

However he had no such luck. Moriarty dropped his head in mock disappointment, rolling his eyes while still clearly enjoying his moment of power. " Oh, this is too easy! Do you know how many places in Britain can hold a lot of people Mycroft? There are concert halls, schools, football stadiums - all packed with people. My bombers could be lurking in any one of them and you have no way of telling where." His smile returned and he began wandering around the cell, too excited to stay still. "In the end it's all those ordinary people's faults anyway. They're all so trusting. They willingly go to places where they're packed in with a thousand other human beings and they still expect to be safe. I'm surprised those places haven't been targeted more often." He continued pacing around Mycroft who remained silent, analysing Moriarty's words, trying to find anything that could be useful to him. "No-one is as exciting as me it seems..."

Instead of looking proud at this statement he looked genuinely saddened by it. The prospect of being one of the few exciting people in a boring world seemed to be more of a curse than a blessing in his case. And from what Mycroft could see, the boredom had eventually driven Moriarty insane.

"Do you know why I often choose bombs, Mr Holmes?" the soft voice piped up again. "Why I like explosions so much?" At Mycroft's lack of response Moriarty continued rambling on, not caring about how little sense he was making. "They can be strangely beautiful, don't you think? So fleeting..." his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "Yet so _very_ destructive..."

Mycroft drew in a breath. His impatience was returning in full force, even in this situation Moriarty had a habit of going off the beaten track when it came to supplying information. And, Mycroft tried to assure himself, his threat remained empty while he could supply no proof of the pre-organised attack. "How can we expect to be sure you're telling the truth? What if we were to keep you here and nothing happened, there was no attack?"

Moriarty chuckled and wandered closer to the elder Holmes. The sound seemed unnatural as it reverberated around the small space, a chilling mixture of pure delight and cold blooded evil. "Take that risk then!" He snapped, his tone and manner practically daring Mycroft to do as he said. He shook his head holding back another laugh. "While it has been rather fun staying here and I will miss this lovely cell," he went on, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. "I am starting to get rather bored now. Our game is over Mycroft." The enjoyment of his situation seemed to fade in an instant and for the first time since Mycroft could remember, James Moriarty was being completely serious. "Time to start something much more interesting. The final problem..."

The two men remained still and silent for a long moment, studying each other like curious children. Mycroft could almost sense their frantic thoughts flitting throughout the small space, intruding on the deafening silence. The exhilaration of Moriarty's initial revelation seemed to have died down within the smaller man. Instead he was waiting patiently for his request to be granted.

Mycroft began taking apart Moriarty's proposal piece by piece, making sure to figure out exactly what he and his men were dealing with. "So you want us to release you, presumably before midday if you expect to contact your men. Otherwise your bombers will launch a terrorist attack?"

Moriarty's childish grin returned, his seemingly ensured victory apparent in his gleeful expression. "It's good, isn't it? People like you are usually so much more co-operative when there are innocent lives on the line. To be honest, for a plan that was arranged months ago, this is going scarily well, even for me..."

Mycroft ignored the hidden jibes in that last comment and continued. "And, assuming you are freed, you intend to go after Sherlock." This wasn't a question, merely a realisation on Mycroft's part. If he freed this lunatic then he would end up putting his brother in even greater danger than he had done just by blabbing about his life. Moriarty hadn't needed to add confirmation to this but he did so anyway, nodding enthusiastically like a seven year old.

"So when you say 'without interference'..."

Moriarty edged closer to Mycroft, until he was far too close for comfort. His voice dropped to a low, threatening hiss. "I mean that once I'm out of here, no matter how much I misbehave from now on, neither you or the rest of your posh men in suits do anything to stop me." He looked Mycroft directly in the eye, his madness glinting in his otherwise dark gaze, the true danger of the consulting criminal radiating to the surface. "And believe me, if you even _think_ of trying then you'll be dealing with multiple terrorist threats faster than you can say BOOM!"

Moriarty leaned in closer, invading the elder Holmes' personal space so much so that their faces were almost touching. Mycroft refused to shirk away but he knew plenty of men who would. He was staring straight into the face of madness, seeing Moriarty at his most dangerous. The man before him was a weakened, half-starved prisoner, almost a shell of what he was normally like, and even then he was still overpowering Mycroft.

Before either of them knew it though the madness had gone, slipping away as Moriarty's face started to resemble that of a human beings' once more. He let his eyes fall to the floor before backing off, resuming his wanderings around the tiny cell, his voice changing from its inhuman hiss to a somewhat friendly tone. "I imagine that would be a nuisance for you wouldn't it? All those deaths, all that paperwork, all those _excuses_..." He wandered over to the mirror once more, where he knew people would be listening intently, hanging on his every word. "Best not risk it, hmm?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably but managed to straighten himself out before the psychopath noticed any change in his demeanour. "What happens if you catch the police's attention?" Mycroft asked, annoyed that he'd been reduced to asking simple questions in a last ditch attempt to get the information he needed.

"Oh, they'll be fine. The police are idiots," Moriarty responded, shaking his head slightly as if he were brushing the entire police force away like an afterthought. "They can try and arrest me if they want. I'll still be able to escape them in a heartbeat. And besides," he smiled slightly again, once again enjoying some form of hidden knowledge. "I may need them one day..."

Mycroft decided that there was a question that desperately needed asked, not so much as an influential government official but as a brother. Ignoring his professional duties for the moment he asked the one question that had been eating away at him since Moriarty's revelation. "And what of Sherlock?"

Moriarty simply shrugged in response. "What about him? He won't be your problem any more,_ big brother._ He's my plaything now." He waved his arms around, displaying his artwork upon the walls. Unease flooded through Mycroft again, although he managed to keep it locked away inside. The consulting criminal dropped his arms and sat down on the floor, leaning against the concrete wall while once again brushing his fingertips across the dusty floor. "Just remember, if Sherlock comes to you for help then turn him away. I want him to face me on his own."

Mycroft couldn't help but scoff slightly at this. The prospect of Sherlock coming to him for help was about as likely as the Earth being flat.

Both men were silent again for a few minutes. When it became obvious that Moriarty had finished delivering his speeches, Mycroft turned around and started to signal the guard before the soft voice piped up from behind him once again. "Oh yes, just an additional fact," he said, holding back his childish glee in order to deliver another warning, one slightly closer to home this time. "If I, or any of my men see any sign of you trying to protect or make contact with Sherlock then I'll have his little pet shot."

"Doctor Watson?"

"Yes, and that would be such a shame, wouldn't it? After all, those two are so sweet together. I'm starting to wonder if they really are just platonic..."

Choosing to ignore Moriarty, Mycroft quickly started to assess the possible damage. Either he selfishly decided to protect his brother and risked the lives of innocent civilians or he set this maniac free, a dangerous move in itself, and distanced himself from his brother when he should be looking out for him. Either way could be catastrophic. Setting Moriarty free could lead to more deaths in the long run than a single terrorist attack. However, even considering sacrificing the lives of so many to save the life of one man, especially one with a personal connection to him, would instantly lose him his job, and that was if he was lucky.

Moriarty had been right. It was surprising how drastically circumstances could change when the people he wished to protect were involved. And as a government official who made difficult decisions daily, this fact shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did.

Quickly gathering all the information in his head in preparation to meet with his men, he signalled to the guard by the door before facing the consulting criminal on the ground. "I'll need to discuss this."

Moriarty looked unsurprised by this. He simply nodded to the door, his victorious expression suggesting that he already knew what the outcome would be. "Off you go."

Mycroft followed the guard out of the cell, finally allowing his concern to show in his expression when he was out of Moriarty's line of vision. The maniac wasn't done yet though, his soft voice sang out from behind Mycroft to deliver one final, useless taunt. "Be quick Mycroft! Time is running out..."

Mycroft deliberately slammed the door behind him in a rare display of frustration as a last ditch attempt to shut the psychopath up.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story :) This chapter ends with the scene from 'The Hounds of Baskerville'. Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

><p>The surveillance room overlooking the cell was almost as gloomy as the cell itself. The dimly lit space was tightly packed and filled to brim with towers of videotapes, papers and files, all concerning the prisoner in the next room. On the desk by the window where the conversations were written down and recorded, four television screens were lined up in a row, each showing grainy black and white images of past interrogations with the consulting criminal. One screen in particular was paused at the image of Moriarty sneering straight at the camera. The only source of light in the room was a small, flickering lamp settled on the desk and the light that faded through the window, the view of which was restricted by a messily imprinted 'Sherlock'.<p>

It occurred to Mycroft that no matter how many recordings they had of their prisoner – all those written conversations and recorded footage which had captured every mannerism, word and action of the man in the past three months – James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mastermind the world had ever seen, remained a complete mystery to them.

The guards had all left the room on Mycroft's orders, sworn to absolute secrecy about the recent interrogation no doubt, and instead three of Mycroft's fellow government officials were sat in any chair they could find, waiting for him. Even with considerably less occupants in the room than was usual during interrogations, the claustrophobic atmosphere in the tight space was almost overwhelming and with the mounting pressure from Moriarty's revelation creeping up on him, Mycroft was surprised that he was able to hold himself together. A glance at the timer on the television screens told Mycroft that it was nearly four in the morning, around eight hours until their absolute deadline. Or 'BOOM!' as Moriarty would put it.

Mycroft took a moment to study his fellow men. Admittedly, had Mycroft had any say in who he could have this discussion with then the three men before him would hardly be his first choice. He barely knew any of them, not enough to trust in them at least, and what little knowledge he had of them was what he'd gathered simply by observing them for a few seconds. The youngest man who was sitting rather awkwardly in the desk chair fiddling nervously with his hands was called Matthew judging by the name imprinted on the inside of his collar, most likely put there by his doting mother. He was hardly special, he'd only maintained his high position thanks to his fathers' influence rather than his intelligence. The oldest, whose name escaped Mycroft as it probably wasn't worth bothering to remember, had grown tired and cynical in his old age thanks to his job, and possibly also due to the recent breakdown of his marriage judging by the tan line on his ring finger. As for the remaining man, Johnson, Mycroft had encountered him at several meetings before and supposed he respected him enough, however they were hardly on first name terms just yet.

Still, he didn't have time to call up anyone else, and he barely trusted anyone anyway besides Anthea when it came to his work.

Mycroft cleared his throat before addressing the three sharply dressed officials. "You heard everything, I presume?"

They all nodded simultaneously, waiting for the elder Holmes to go on.

"I imagine the answer is clear enough, but I'd like a second opinion before I let a maniac walk free-" Mycroft paused as Matthew squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, not used to this kind of pressure it seemed. "So, what do you suggest we do?"

The older man who, thanks to the lighting, had dark, tired lines growing underneath his dull eyes, grunted in response. "Looks like we have no choice, doesn't it? Either we let him walk or we're faced with a repeat of 2005." He threw a fleeting, hateful look towards the window, where Moriarty was now sat in the centre of the cell. "And, at my age, I doubt I'll survive the stress of an incident like that again."

The other two nodded in agreement, grim expressions painted on their faces. Matthew, who looked almost grey with his growing unease piped up almost timidly, "Mr Holmes, I know you're brother is involved but we can't risk the lives of so many for one man, especially one with a personal connection to us. If people were to find out..." He glanced up at Mycroft nervously, as if expecting the elder Holmes to scold him for his opinions. Mycroft couldn't be bothered responding. The young man glanced around the room before speaking again in an attempt to break the awkward silence. "I... I mean, I've lost someone before. A family member, thanks to my job. I suppose it's a risk isn't it? Having power like ours..."

The older man snorted before drawing his attention to the window again. "Just the one loved one, eh? Must be nice."

Matthew shrank back in his seat again, the difference in his intelligence and experience compared to the other men in the room fully dawning on him. "I was just saying..."

"What do you think Johnson?" Mycroft asked the man in the corner, desperate for an intelligent idea before they descended into a petty squabble. The taller man, who until now had been observing the 'discussion' from the sidelines glanced up at the mention of his name, taking a deep measured breath before answering. " We set him free, I suppose. There is a chance that he's bluffing but there's no way we could find out in the time he's given us when there's so little to go on."

Mycroft nodded. It was a unanimous decision then, as he'd expected. His worry for Sherlock could wait for now. Time was short if Moriarty was to be out of here in time to call off the bombers by midday and if he intended to use a specific phone then he may be intending to call them from anywhere. Besides, Mycroft still had the surveillance cameras to keep an eye on his brother. He could still observe, even if he couldn't act. And then of course, he had John.

He turned to leave, but Johnson shouted after him. "We could still try to think of ways to protect your brother from afar though." Mycroft turned at the suggestion and gestured for Johnson to go on. "Instead of targeting Moriarty himself we could keep an eye on his men for a while. See if anyone with connections to him are spotted in the area where your brother lives. After all, Moriarty prides himself on letting others do his dirty work."

This idea was slightly comforting, if only because it seemed to shine something slightly positive in what seemed certain to be a bleak aftermath to this decision. "We'll have to be careful though, we'll have to avoid coming into contact with Sherlock otherwise we put yet another man's life in danger," Mycroft pointed out.

Johnson simply shrugged. "I'm sure we can figure out some way to work around that threat eventually. We just have to make sure we avoid Moriarty as much as possible, otherwise I'm sure he'll remain strong on his threat to kill thousands of people."

Mycroft nodded in agreement and walked over to the window, on the other side of which Moriarty was sitting silently, his eyes closed and his brows furrowed in concentration. Mycroft studied him for a moment before addressing the three men once more. "So, I take it we've reached an agreement?"

They all muttered their reply, a resounding and rather unhappy 'yes'. The older man spoke bitterly, "Admittedly I'd rather not let a criminal psychopath out on the loose but given the alternative we have no choice. Besides," he stole another glance out of the window. "I can't pretend I'll be sad to finally get rid of him."

Mycroft had expected a longer discussion, for someone to show more anger or reluctance to freeing Moriarty but the defeat present on the faces of his men said it all. Moriarty, despite currently sitting powerless in a prison cell, had driven them all into a corner and trapped them there, laughing at them all the while.

Mycroft silently slipped out of the room, the sudden fierceness of the bright corridors almost blinding after the darkness of the surveillance room. Searching along the plain, concrete corridors he spotted the lone guard standing by his post, looking in Mycroft's direction for confirmation of their final decision.

Mycroft nodded at him and began walking towards him, clenching his shaking hands into a fist in anger at both himself and Moriarty. The guard started unlocking the heavy door, waiting until the elder Holmes was by his side before forcing it open.

Moriarty was still sitting in the centre of the cell, completely motionless and facing the mirror as if he could see through the walls and was mocking the men on the other side. Mycroft remained extremely reluctant to let him out. He was far too dangerous to slip from their grasp so easily. Despite the fact that it would do nobody any favours, Mycroft would have happily borrowed the guard's gun and shot the unsuspecting prisoner in the back of the head as payback for all the trouble he'd put them through. If only...

Instead all he could do was sigh and announce to the guard, "All right. Let him go," barely trying to mask the defeat in his tone.

As if on cue Moriarty leaped up at these words with surprising energy before sauntering over to the door without a second glance of the cell, wearing an insufferable smug expression as he caught Mycroft's eye. Mycroft deliberately ignored him and proceeded to lead him away to his freedom. Neither spoke as they ventured down the corridors, but no words were needed in this case. Moriarty's face had said it all.

_'I win.'_

* * *

><p>The guard could only watch as the two men walked away. He was rocked with disbelief that within an hour Moriarty had gone from a dangerous prisoner to a free man. As a guard he could hardly begin to understand how all these powerful men's minds worked – the cold government officials with the weight of the world rested upon their shoulders and the crazed lunatic who was undoubtedly brilliant, yet completely insane. He was glad he wasn't one of them, people who would never know or understand the simple pleasures of a normal human life. People whose minds had broken them away from everyone else until they considered caring for fellow human beings a disadvantage. That kind of life wasn't something he could begin to understand.<p>

He took one last long look around the cell, feeling the familiar chill creep down his spine as the carvings of the single name 'Sherlock' – the work of a maniac – surrounded him on all sides. The name seemed to leap from the walls and charge straight at him, and no matter where he looked he couldn't escape it. He would be glad to see the back of this place. He was hardly going to miss the unease it brought him every time he was forced to oversee Mycroft's conversations with Moriarty, unable to show any reaction in front of the others while being slowly burned from the inside by fear.

Turning away he spared a thought for this 'Sherlock' man, Mycroft's brother. From what he'd overheard it was clear that Moriarty had an unhealthy obsession with him, saw him as a worthy opponent in his twisted little game, while at the same time he harboured the sick desire to destroy the man completely.

'God help him,' the guard thought bitterly, before slamming the door shut for the final time.


	5. Epilogue

**A/N **Here's the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed or favourited this story, and to the reviewers who suggested I should continue it in the first place :)

This takes place in Mycroft's final scene in 'The Reichenbach Fall'. Enjoy :)

* * *

><p>The level of responsibility that came along with being a man with as much power as Mycroft was suffocating at times.<p>

It was all very well showing off by being over-dramatic; kidnapping John, spying on Sherlock, dropping hints about top-secret events within earshot of his brother as a display of power, although nowadays this mostly impressed John as Sherlock had long since lost interest in his brothers work.

However there were times when it was genuinely hard to be in his position, times where important decisions rested solely upon his shoulders. Over time he had learned to deal with this, there wasn't a day that passed by where he wasn't faced with a challenge, and years of this had hardened his feelings, made him cold and calculating but still, for the most part, on the side of good.

If he was faced with a situation like the one Moriarty had presented to him - sacrifice the lives of the few to save the lives of the many - then the answer was usually the same. Over time the few had become less than people in Mycroft's eyes, merely names without faces. And the only reason Mycroft was fine with this, the reason he could sleep well at night was because he _had_ saved the lives of the many. There were people spread throughout the country who were with their families, living their lives, blissfully unaware that their simple, ordinary lives could have drawn to an abrupt close thanks to a wrongly handled decision. The deaths of the few seemed meaningless while the many continued to survive.

Not this time though. Mycroft would have given anything in that moment to swap the lives of the thousands of innocent people he had chosen to save for the life of his brother, even if that thought went against all that he worked for. The newspaper felt like a lead weight in his hand and his usually cold heart grew uncomfortably heavy as he scanned the pages. Words like 'fraud' and 'suicide' and '_murderer' _screamed out at him, words that didn't belong there. Sherlock hadn't deserved to be associated with these vile accusations, he hadn't deserved to be destroyed by the ruthless lies that Mycroft had helped to fuel. And he definitely hadn't deserved to be left at the mercy of Moriarty, facing the maniac alone at the time when he'd needed his brother's help most.

Moriarty had foreseen all of this very well, had calculated his opponents next moves almost to the letter. He had probably spent most of his time in custody adding the final touches to his plan. All those times he'd seemed withdrawn, staring into the darkness, he'd really been putting the pieces in place, waiting to resume his game. Forcing information out of Mycroft, ensuring that he'd be released from custody before he'd even been abducted, managing to cut off outside help from Sherlock - he'd managed all this months in advance of his 'final problem'. And in the end he'd succeeded, burning out Sherlock's heart and taking Mycroft's with it.

Mycroft folded the paper and dumped it on the table beside him. John had been right. It was complete rubbish. In fact John – ordinary, caring John – had been right about many things. Mycroft pressed his palms tightly in a steeple position and closed his eyes, blocking out the silence that surrounded him with his thoughts. However his memory had other ideas, as it often did when he closed his eyes these days, and cruelly returned him to his last conversation with the doctor.

"_Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition."_

Yes, he had. And what had it all been for in the end? Worthless information about a non-existent key-code that had whipped the government into a frenzy for no reason. A chance to dig deeper into the psychopath's fascinating mind to see what really made the consulting criminal tick. Nothing worth betraying his brother for.

"_John..."_

Mycroft almost cringed at the defeat laced within his tone. John's reaction hardly helped as he spun around in annoyance, as if he could barely stand being in the same room as the elder Holmes any more.

"_I'm sorry."_

John's disbelieving laugh rang out throughout his mind along with his own words. Had Moriarty's threat not rested then Mycroft would have willingly gone down to 221B himself, looked Sherlock in the eye and spoken these words face to face with his brother. But, as it was, that action would have resulted in John's murder, and Mycroft had more than enough blood on his hands for one lifetime.

"_Tell him, will you?"_

Mycroft doubted he'd ever sounded so lost, so regretful about his past actions. His reputation as 'The Ice Man' was threatening to melt away if he kept this up. He was most definitely lost though. The need to protect his brother was overwhelming, just as it had been in his childhood, and yet it was useless because for once in his life he was powerless to come to Sherlock's aid. And if John didn't carry out Mycroft's final request, which would be unsurprising given the fact that the doctor looked like he would happily punch Mycroft for his stupidity in that final moment, then Mycroft would have been given no chance to redeem himself.

In the end it was all his own fault. In a way it was Sherlock's as well. Moriarty had been a genius and they had both been attracted to that, fascinated by a man they could finally call an equal, no matter how insane or evil he was. They had both been tempted into his dangerous game of chess and once they'd decided to play they'd been trapped, being manipulated across the chessboard as Moriarty took control of all the pieces.

Mycroft had taken part in Moriarty's twisted games. And as a result he'd killed his little brother.


End file.
